Piccolo

Lost caverns
Dissolved
And broken

Apart
Yet sullen

Stolen perhaps
Stolen by ignorance

Thieved away
Upon a sailboat
Headed towards a fog

And the driftwood
Softly sinking
And the digits
Slowly slipping
And the demons
Swiftly sipping
The life cupped in my palms

And it may seem paradoxical
With my certainty
Seldom sleeping

But the wind behind my back
Can unfurl my being
With a gleam
And unstitch my existence
At mere thought

Treetops painted with disaster
A light escapes the heavens
My eyes shift into focus
And recoil at the message

Drowning in the life
That I so foolishly gathered
Stricken by the herald
And reminded by the reality

I am searching
With a piccolo
For a pinnacle
Of light





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